


Weight of it All

by 8ethespider8itch



Series: The Mixtape [3]
Category: Adventure Time
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, themed work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:39:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9331958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8ethespider8itch/pseuds/8ethespider8itch
Summary: "Roads to oceans let's retrace the moments I had half erasedI'm going to be better..."A chance at redemption between two lost girls.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story is best understood when accompanies by Handsome Ghost's Weight of it All which can be found below:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tevsRrStI5w

_Tell me - who's gonna fall_  
_I've been underneath_  
_The weight of it all..._

The fire escape isn't the best place to get air, because it's still loud, and still smells like pot and sweat, and isn't close enough to the earth or far enough from the moon to keep Marceline from thinking too much, too hard. She trips over her boots in clumsy eagerness and hastily makes her way down to street level. Behind her trails a boy, a nice boy with a nice face. He's been talking to her for an hour, or an ice age, and she can't seem to remember what he's said. She told him she needs air. He'd like a smoke. 

It's raining, that omnipresent spring rain that's more mist than actual precipitation. Marceline can feel it clinging to her bare arms oppressively, raising goosebumps on her legs, and building up a freckling of condensation on the leather of her skirt. She feels it even through the invisible gloves and coat that only 6 shots can bring. Oil slicks pool on the asphalt, flashing with the reflection of the city's neon lights. Marceline already feels the music of the night, the rhythmic bass trembling in the sidewalk like a heartbeat. It reminds her of lying on Bonnie's chest at three in the morning, feeling the rhythm of her sleep, and Marceline winces visibly. The boy beside her, the nameless, faceless boy, strokes her arm. 

"I know," he says understandingly. "It's cold"

He's right. It really is cold. And it's been cold for months now. 

The phone in Marceline's bra rings, a short burst of notes that causes another physical pang. She fishes it out hastily, a finger held in the air to halt the boy's speech.

"Bonnibel," she says, as neutral as a drunk girl can be. 

Bonnie sounds unsure. "Marcy? Hi..." she trails off. Marceline can see her biting the inside of her cheek, a nervous tic she'd always found endearing. She curses softly. "What was that Marce?" Bonnie asks. "It's hard to hear you in here. This place is packed."

"Marceline!" She hears a shout in the background, and it sounds like Finn, but garbled. "Come get pizza!" Or something. His mouth is obviously full, more than likely with an entire slice of pizza.

Bonnibel sighs. "That's why I called. We're at Pizza Kingdom for a slice. The boys - and I - wanted to see if you were free." Her voice is always so calm, so even. It was calm and even when she told you she loved you, and when she said she needed space. Even when you told her you couldn't be with her, like this, anymore -  still, her voice was smooth and calm, an untroubled pond.

Marceline thinks about it, she really does. Pizza sounds good, and she hasn't seen the boys in a while. But there's that pins and needles feeling in her heart, and she's starting to feel like the lights are swimming. She really could just get an Uber. It isn't even that far. But she thinks about the cold, and the emptiness, and the boy standing next to her smoking a clove cigarette and holding her hand like it's a thing. He can't hurt her. She doesn't want to feel anything, so she says the first thing that comes to mind. "I'm sorry." 

Bonnibel doesn't wait for an explanation, and her voice is soft, tender. "I understand. Maybe next time." It isn't a question. Her voice sounds sorry, too. 

"I'm just busy," she says quietly. "I'm partying with some friends."

"Who?" Bonnie asks, as if by reflex.

"No one you know. Just people." Her tone is robotic, hiding anger. How dare she ask that, like she has a right to know what's happening in your life? She never cared before.

"Where have you been? We miss you," Bonnibel replies earnestly, and you draw a breath as if you've been slapped. 

"Do you miss me?" Marceline asks, aching.

"Stop doing that," Bonnibel says, in that soft, dangerous voice she uses right before she gets angry. "Don't be like this."

"I'll stop when I get it Bonnie. I'll stop when you can explain to me when we fell apart. Do you really think you miss me like I miss you? Do you see me like an impression on the backs of your eyelids, lying beside you in the mornings when you open your eyes? Do you blink and I disappear?"

"Yes." Bonnie's voice is a whisper, but it's broken. Marceline hangs up the phone without another word. She drops to the curb, head in hands, and shuts her eyes.

* * *

Bonnie is trying exceptionally hard tonight. Finn has been prodding her to go out more, to have some fun. "Do something nice for yourself," he urges in that sweet, boyish voice of his. "Hang out with us!"

So she goes out for pizza. Finn and Jake come out, and Lady. Even LSP drops by to bum a slice, pretending that she isn't only there to mooch off their food. And in a moment of weakness, Bonnie makes the call. As the phone rings, Lady settles her head on Bonnie's shoulder, a silent sign of solidarity for the hurt that Bonnie knew was written all over her face. Hurt and stupid, sickening optimism that maybe _this_ call would be better.

It wasn't. It was worse, much worse than the previous calls, worse than the strained, polite discussions and the times Marceline had called her drunk and crying. Marceline was right where Bonnie had left her, lingering in the same fresh wounds that should have healed over six months into the breakup. The call ends with a click, but Marceline is still there. She always has been, really, buried between skin and sinew, digging a nest in the hollows between Bonnibel's lungs. Even after the breakup, she'd lingered, curling her claws around Bonnie's heart and clutching it at the most inopportune moments. Bonnie had thought leaving was best. She was too distant, she was too busy, she was too cold. Leaving had seemed kind. But now, every millimeter of distance between is agony.  She remembers the calls, at the beginning, the calls when Marceline begged and pleaded for her to come back, to come home. She'd been resolute. Now, she can only hope it isn't too late.

She presses redail. And surprisingly enough, Marceline answers. She doesn't say a word, there's just a click and the sound of cars speeding down a wet road.

"Marceline," she begins, her voice catching. "I know you haven't moved forward. You're out getting hammered with lord knows who."

"Georgy," Marceline corrects her mildly.

"Right, you're getting hammered with Georgy, telling him all the horrible things I've put you through. I know you, you enjoy the mourning much better than the healing. Healing hurts more. And tomorrow morning I'll wake up, all muddled up, and expect to feel your arms around me, but you won't be there, and I know that's my fault but can't you please just stop hating me for it?"

"I don't hate you," Marceline says. Her tone is guarded, and she sighs like the rush of a river, endlessly. "And I'll stop, when I understand it. I'll stop pushing you if you can convince me that you really don't want to be with me."

Bonnie's temper flares. "It was never about that!"

"Then what was it about?" Marceline snaps back.

"It was about protecting you!" Bonnie feels tears pricking at her eyes now, and a lump in her throat like a softball, but she forces them back. "It was always about protecting you! I was always busy, or away, or unfocused, I was never there for you! I got tired of hurting you, Marceline. I just thought it was best to let you move on.  But you couldn't do that, could you? You couldn't let me do what's best for you!"

"Who says you get to decide what's best for me?" Marceline spits, and Bonnie is quiet. "No one. I wanted you to stay. I knew you were distant, I've known you all my life. We could have worked it out! If you had just talked to me instead of making decisions without me-"

"Could we still work it out?" Bonnie asks, throwing caution to the wind. This might be the last chance she has. But Marceline doesn't say anything. "Marcy. Can we try again? Is there any way I can make this up to you?" 

"I shrugged."

"Marceline! Ugh- no, seriously. Let's try this again."

Marceline thinks for a moment before replying. To Bonnibel, it feels like a decade. "We could try. I can't promise you anything. I don't know if I can forgive you, and I don't know what issues we even need to work through at this point. I'll try though. But I need something from you."

Bonnie tries hard not to show her suspicion. "Something like...?"  

"Run away with me."

"What?" This sounds ridiculous, and crazy, and drunk. Marceline is definitely drunk. 

"Not forever. I tried so many times to get you to go on a road trip with me. You never came on tour with the band, you didn't go on vacation with my dad and me. I couldn't even get you to go to the movies a town over!" There's no point denying it, and Bonnie knows that, so she bites her tongue and waits. "So let's go on a trip. We'll drive somewhere warm, somewhere nice. When we get bored, we'll leave. No schedule, no set dates and times. Just you, me, and the sea.

There are a million things than can go wrong with this plan. The weather, the car, the money. Where will they stay? What about work? Bonnie feels her hands start to shake at the thought. But the image of Marceline in the passenger seat of her car, with her feet on the dash, navigating with the worn-out map Bonnie keeps in her glove box, it just feels right. 

"Where are you?" Bonnie asks again, much more gently, and Marceline answers this time. "I'm on my way," she says, softly. The sun peaks over the horizon. 

 

_I'll drop with the weight of it all..._


End file.
